


Everything as it is

by Eara



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Flash Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eara/pseuds/Eara
Summary: “I know you're sorry. You've been sorry all week, you subtle man. Mr B thought it was you who had broken the vase from Shanghai.”At that, he can't help but huff a laugh, although his hand, almost against his will, moves from her hip to rest between her shoulder blades. An attempt at pulling her even closer, to stop her from leaving, he doesn't know.





	Everything as it is

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I'm totally cheating.  
> Not only I'm posting this fic almost a full day after the heat that it was supposed to be for, for no reason other than the fact that yesterday evening my mind decided it was Time to Shut Down and left me sleepy and wordless. I'm also, and have been from the start, kind of using an idea that had already formed before seeing the delightful images. Not sure what this says about the fic.
> 
> Thanks for Whopooh and Olderbynow for organising, once again this has been a lovely way to get my muse working, plus there is a bunch of lovely new fics around, waiting to be read!
> 
> Last but not least, a bucketful of thanks to Aurora_Australis for being my patient beta! 
> 
> This is the prompt:  
> 

The evening is coming to its natural end. The lights have been purposely dimmed, the music cleverly slowed down to a calm rhythm. 

The tall French windows of the ballroom have been opened to let in the soft night breeze that accompanies the few remaining dancing couples in their gentle swaying. 

As ever, the Firemen and Policemen’s Ball has delivered on its promise of being a wonderful evening. The unique air of excitement that the occasion has brought to the event still lingers in the atmosphere. 

His hands on her hips feel warm, as he guides her lax movements, lazily filled with the elegance of being without purpose. 

Her head is resting on his collarbone, and she has crossed her wrists behind his neck. He can feel her hum the tune of a new song the band has played earlier, the vibrations running pleasantly from her body to his. 

“Why didn't you tell me about the promotion?”

He feels his own breath catch, his hands grow rigid. This close, he knows she can hear his heart rate increase. Dammit. 

God, why hadn't he told her? Why hadn't he-

“Jack.”

He can feel her hot breath on his neck. Her arms pull him imperceptibly closer. 

“I'm sorry, I don't know why-”, he begins, but she cuts him off.

“I know you're sorry. You've been sorry all week, you subtle man. Mr B thought it was you who had broken the vase from Shanghai.”

At that, he can't help but huff a laugh, although his hand, almost against his will, moves from her hip to rest between her shoulder blades. An attempt at pulling her even closer, to stop her from leaving, he doesn't know. 

It feels ridiculous, it feels wrong. 

“That was Bert, not me,” he murmurs absently, trying without hope to never go back to the original conversation. He doesn't know what he is doing, running like a child, hiding behind jokes. 

“I know.”

He can feel her raise her forehead from where it had been laying on his chest and can't help to dread the moment she will decide to look him in the eyes. He is surprised when she doesn't, but looks over his shoulder, at rest of the room. 

“Why didn't you tell me, mm?”

Her voice is soft, not teasing, and it alarms him. He knows why, and he doesn't. He hadn't asked for her opinion, for her support when he had decided to accept. And now, now that it is all too late, he just wants to know what she thinks of it. Of him. 

But he knows he has lost the right to ask. 

“You thought I would tell you not to take it.”

He swallows, and dammit, he knows she can feel it. 

He knows she's right. 

Like a child, he had preferred not to ask than chance the possibility of getting a negative answer. He supposes he should feel foolish, or ashamed, but also like a child, he is only afraid. 

Like child, like a child, like a child. It seems that when it comes to her he can't be anything better. 

He wants to push her away from his body now, to go home, and talk about everything tomorrow, after breakfast, with a table between them and a clear head. He doesn't want her so close. 

Her French perfume is making it hard to breathe. 

As if on cue, they sway half a circle to the music, and she ends up closer still. Their bodies impossibly intimate, they fit together without effort. 

It could almost be inappropriate, if they weren't dancing. 

He had wanted that promotion. He had earned it. 

He couldn't keep running all day after suspects, and staying up all night on his files and depositions. It was never meant to last forever, although there had been a time when he had wished it were. 

Some part of him maybe still does, if only to keep everything as it is now. 

He doesn’t know if she's angry, if she's disappointed, if she's hurt. 

Now, now he does want to look her in the eyes. The merciful avoidance of eye contact has become merciless, but still she does not move.

From her crossed wrists behind his head, she brings a hand closer to his neck, and caresses him with her nails, ungently, making him shudder. 

He doesn't want to tell her why, he doesn't want her to know. His fear seems now a stab at her trust, a stab at what he had wanted to protect. 

She has to know. It is her right. 

“We won't be working together anymore.” He says.

The silence is deafening. He can't hear the music, he can't hear her breathing. 

They keep swaying slowly, but his body is moving of its own volition. 

He feels her extend her hand once more, crossing her wrists behind him again, like a stretching cat. 

“Jack. Of course we will. We're a team.”

And finally, finally she steps back a little, she puts her hands on his chest, and looks at him. 

She is smiling. 

And it's a sweet smile, full of understanding. So unlike her, it hurts. 

He knows that smile is all for him, meant for him, more than any other he can elicit. 

Her eyes are crystal clear, and quickly change from loving to mischievous. 

“You're going to direct huge operations and you'll comb over all the clever details with me.” She takes a slow breath, tilting her head, “And I am going to have dozens of cases that I'll talk through with you.”

Her smile is big now, larger than life, as she adjusts his perfectly smooth bow tie. 

“And we'll keep being the envy of everyone at every Firemen and Policemen's Ball, as long as our legs keep us dancing.”

Her lips are blood red, her silver hair catches the light. 

He wants to kiss her, but it's not proper. 

Maybe once it was, for a common Inspector.  
The Commissioner though, has all eyes on him. 

Well, him, and the gorgeous Lady Detective in his arms.


End file.
